Cheque, Please
by Missie DuCaine
Summary: X2. On the way to the Drake household, Logan decides that they need food. People talk way too much when they're waiting for their food. Slashy goodness.


**Written as prompt to drabblebabies.**

I just have to tell you how ironic I find this, considering the above challenge quote is actually made originally by _me_, when I was pissed about the slowness of Swiss Chalet's delivery service.

X-Men are the property of Marvel, not me. I made no money off of this story whatsoever.

"Where the hell is our fucking food?"

Rogue winced, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Logan, who had twisted in his chair to glare at the kitchen doors, which had not as yet opened to reveal their waiter and their meals. They'd fled the mansion around midnight last night, and though the drive shouldn't really have been too long, what with their driving Scott's super fast and super sleek sports car, Logan had decided on no uncertain terms that they were stopping for food. Seems that Scott is a bit anal retentive, and actually had money stuffed in the very back of the glove compartment in case he forgot his wallet or something, and Logan had insisted it was for a worthy cause if they all got food.

But of course, the food was being slow, and Logan was getting impatient. Not that he'd ever had that much patience to begin with.

Standing abruptly, he cracked his knuckles. "I'm going to go see what's taking so long."

"Maybe you shouldn't do that," Bobby interrupted his anger, smiling sheepishly. "I mean, we _do_ want to eat, right? And not get kicked out?"

"I don't need advice from a kid," Logan growled. "Specially not one that's _way _too big for his britches."

Bobby sighed, wincing. He knew Logan would be sore about the 'rescue', but really, he'd just been trying to help! "It's just I've got experience with this kind of thing, all right? Johnny's _always_ getting us kicked out of places."

St. John kicked Bobby under the table, still playing with his lighter. "Bastard," he muttered.

Logan snorted, but did sit down. "You two are pathetic. Why don't you just get over yourselves and fuck, already?"

"Logan?!" Rogue gasped, scandalized that her 'friend' was talking about her boyfriend and his friend like that.

Bobby and St. John just stared at him.

Logan sneered. "What, you haven't noticed your 'boyfriend' is jonesing for his roommate? Honestly, kid. I thought you were smarter than _that_."

Bobby swallowed, speaking up at last. "Ah... Logan, sir... I think you've got it kind of wrong..."

Logan snorted again, stretching out in his chair. "Nope. I've got animal smell, right? Your hormones go nuts when he's around. And his?" He snorted again. "Don't get me started. Like a bitch in heat."

"Hey!" St. John yelped, taking great offense at that description of him.

Logan shrugged. "Truth hurts, kid."

"Logan," Rogue started, about to tune him out, but Bobby interrupted her.

"Yeah, well I've seen how you watch Dr. Grey!"

St. John snorted, and muttered something under his breath.

Logan sat up straighter, eyes narrowed at St. John. "What did you say?"

The flame controller paused, then sat up a little straighter himself, flicking his lighter as he smirked. "I said, you aren't looking at Dr. Grey."

The other two teens turned to look at St. John, confusion written on their faces. "Who _is_ he looking at, then?" Bobby asked, as though he were almost scared to know.

"Scott," St. John said with a shit-eating grin.

Logan looked ready to leap over the table and eviscerate the teen, but they were saved by the final arrival of their waiter, bearing a tray covered with plates. "Lady and gentleman, sorry for the wait," he chirped obnoxiously, setting their plates and drinks in front of them. "Have a pleasant meal!"

As soon as the flaming waiter (and would be _more_ flaming, if St. John's scowl at his back had anything to say about it) had left, Logan snapped the top off his beer with his bare hand, then took a very long swig. Pausing for a moment, he regarded the young flamethrower, then started nodding slowly, leaning back in his chair. "All right, kid. You're not dead. Now, anyway. Just don't push your luck."

Rogue looked back and forth between the two of them. "You mean he was telling the _truth_?!"

Logan shrugged. "Cyke's got a nice ass."

"I am _not_ hearing this..." Bobby groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

St. John snickered, and started digging into his fried potatoes.

Rogue closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then ventured. "Are you all serious, or are you messing with my head?"

"No messing goin' on," Logan shook his head, speaking through a mouthful of rare steak and eggs. "Mm." He swallowed, then pointed at the two boys with his knife. "Though they look like they want some. They're damn horny. Pass the ketchup?"

Rogue swallowed. "Bobby?" She asked, with a tight, dangerous smile. "This true?"

Bobby froze like a deer in the head lights. "Depends. You going to suck my life out of me if I say yes?"

St. John kicked him again.

"Bastard," she muttered, having got all the answer _she_ needed. "Great. My boyfriend is gay, his roommate is gay, and my guardian father-figure is gay. Where is Jubilee when you need her?"

"So you can be gay too?" St. John asked, brightening at the idea.

"No, so she and I can laugh at you behind your backs, god!" Rogue smacked him over the head. Fortunately she had a sweater on over her night gown, and had the sleeve pulled down over her hand so she didn't suck his soul or powers. Ignoring their snickers, she held up a hand. "Cheque, please!"


End file.
